


And the Heart is Hard to Translate

by CJ_fics



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence, F/M, post Arrow 4x17 fic, post-break-up fic, speculation fic, this is AU now, will try to incorporate some elements from Arrow 4x18
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-05-31 11:13:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6467974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CJ_fics/pseuds/CJ_fics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s love, and there’s anger. There’s hurt, and there’s love. Felicity and Oliver both believe that one cancels out the other, and learn to live with themselves and their decisions. Will they realise that they are more alike than they believed they were, and that despite the anger and the hurt, love is always worth fighting for? Or will they let themselves lose it all?</p>
<p>Post-Olicity break-up, and Felicity leaving the team, fic. This is me spewing out how I wish the rest of their story this season will continue, and also trying to make sense of character motivations. Also, there will be angst.</p>
<p>Title of the fic taken from Florence + The Machine’s, “All This and Heaven, Too”.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Coming Back All Damaged

There is a weight on her chest. She has been trying to live with it for weeks now. With some success.

_I’m still breathing_ , she tells herself every morning as she sighs around the weight.

It’s not a new feeling for her. She experienced a similar weight for the first time on the fourth night that her father didn’t return. She felt another one – smaller than the one that had the shape of Noah Kuttler – upon seeing Cooper behind bars.

So, no, this weight was not at all surprise at all for her. Not with everything that had gone on with Oliver. What surprised her was how big it was and how it wouldn’t lighten even after almost a month. In her experience, the weight should have minimised to a bearable mass by now. Something that she can ignore. Something that only flared up in her darkest moments. Or when something reminded her of the cause of the weight.

But, no, this current weight has not let up. It makes itself known from the moment she wakes up from a night of tossing and turning, trying to find a spot in her new bed that alleviated this invisible rock-like thing on and in her chest, as she got dressed for another day of work, as she went about her CEO business, as she went about setting up a centre for under-privileged individuals dealing with disabilities with the help of Paul Holt, as she tried to swallow her meals, in her daily phone calls with her mom, until she finally ended her days by tossing and turning in her new unfamiliar bed.

Rinse and repeat. 

It has remained there, needing no prompting, no mental cues, no context, every day, all day.

She had gotten really good at ignoring – No, _pretending_ that it doesn’t exist.

It had started out as bubble in her throat that built from the moment she realised that Oliver had sent William away without telling her about it. When she realised that he had left her out. _Again_.

The bubble got in the way as she tried to express herself to him, the broken look in his eyes, his “ _I’m trying_ ” – and her words coming out all wrong because  he was looking at her as if he was losing everything. And she couldn’t bear to be another person who hurt him, who added to his lifetime of hurt, but she was so hurt and angry at him. And that needed to be to be let out, too. And her feelings were just as important as his, goddammit!  But she loved him like she’s never loved anyone before – and it was all just overwhelming.

So, when she felt her legs for the first time in months, she followed the urge to walk away from him. Because the bubble in her throat had turned into a lump and no words would come out, and if she allowed herself to revel in the joy of having Curtis’ implant finally working – with Oliver – then she would never leave and she needed to leave. She needed space.

To breathe. And think. And just be.

The lump of _something_ that bubble had turned into remained where it was as she made plans to move out, temporarily staying with her mom. It was so stuck in that space between her throat and her chest that whenever she spoke around Oliver and team, she felt like her voice was coming out shrill. Outside of them, she didn’t speak a word beyond the practical ones. Not even when her mother had badgered her about why the wedding was cancelled.

She tried to live with it. She tried to act as if there wasn’t this lump that she either needed to swallow or vomit out – but couldn’t. She tried to play the perfect teammate. To be Overwatch. Tough, in-control Overwatch.

As she listened to Oliver say his very real vows in their very fake wedding, as she looked into his eyes and saw his remorse, his sincerity, his love for her written so plainly, the lump had descended to her chest. Heavier. An invisible, un-ignorable, unbearable weight in her chest.

She tried to ignore it as she tried to reason with Cupid, forcing herself to say what was in her heart. The weight eased in that moment. Then she saw the hope in Oliver’s eyes … The mass grew jagged and heavier.

So heavy that she couldn’t take deep breaths. Well, she could, but the exhalation always came out shaky. As if tears wanted to escape as she exhaled. And she couldn’t cry. She wouldn’t.

_She’s survived worse that this. She had to be strong. This was not going to break her_.

There was relief in the decision to leave the team. In the moment when she walked away from Oliver, from the lair, the weight seemed to lessen. It hurt to leave, but the easing of the weight in her chest as she resolved to find another purpose in life told her that it was the right decision.

Until she parked her car in her mother’s apartment, and realised that _this_ was her life now.

She reminded herself that _this_ was the best thing for her. That _this_ is the healthiest thing she could for her self-preservation. She knew all of that, and she could ignore the voice in her head – she had to – that second-guessed that decision. But she couldn’t ignore the mass that grew massive and sharp without her control as she sat in her car in front of her mother’s apartment.

And she knew then that this load on her chest, its dark centre of gravity right smack in the middle, was something she would have to learn to survive with now. 

——–

Seeing Oliver in all his green glory today as the team rescued them her mother, Thea and her from Brie Larvan and her robotic bees resulted in the heaviest the weight has been in her chest. Made heavier still as she stopped herself from running straight into his arms in relief after Larvin was dealt with, and seeing how he was having a hard time not pulling her to him.

But she acknowledged the weight with a resolute pat, and went about making sure that Palmer Tech was secured, the staff all accounted for and safe, and calming down her mother who had just found out about Oliver’s green secret.

She was just about to leave her mother’s apartment, finally managing to alleviate Donna’s concerns, when they hear a knock on the door.

“Why would Quentin knock, he has keys to this place?” Donna asks as she stands up to answer the door, “Did you forget – Oh! Oliver!”

Felicity gasps as the familiar weight in her chest makes throbs. She pats it, as per usual, as she heads for the open door.

“Hi, Donna,” she hears Oliver greet tentatively, “I just wanted to check in on you. Make sure that you’re all right from what happened today–”

He stops as he sees Felicity, his eyes wide, “Both of you,” he finishes quietly.

“We’re fine. Thank you, Oliver,” Donna answers when her daughter doesn’t respond, “Would you like to come in?”

“Ah, no, I can’t,” he responds, his gaze moving towards Felicity before shaking his head, “I – uh – Do you have any questions for me, Donna?”

“Felicity has answered most of them,” Donna says, “Just one request though.”

“Anything.”

“Be careful out there, Oliver,” Donna smiles, reaching out a hand to pat Oliver’s arm.

Oliver’s eyes widen in surprise before he smiles shyly, “I’ll try my best.”

Donna flashes him a smile, “Thank you for coming to our rescue today,” she says softly.

Oliver nods solemnly, “Of course.”

As Donna turns back into the apartment, he turns to Felicity, “Can I speak to you for a bit?” he asks slowly.

“Of course,” Felicity says, stepping towards the doorway, “What is it?”

“Are you OK?” he asks.

“Yes, like mom said, we’re fine,” Felicity says, looking down as the heaviness in her chest threatens to overwhelm her. Being in his presence makes the mass sharper. “If that’s all–”

“I don’t know when I’ll get to talk to you next, and there’s something I want to say. Something I forgot to say – before,” he says in a quiet rush.

“Oliver …” Felicity sighs. She doesn’t know if she has strength tonight to deal with him. With another apology. Another plea to stay. To take him back. Not when she feel like she’s seconds away from being choked by the bulk in her chest.

“I’m not trying to get you back,” he says desperately, “I know I’ve – I know you’ve – I know that _that’s_ a done deal. I know I messed everything up. But – But today when one of Larvin’s bees stung me and um – It was touch and go for a while. And –”

“What?!?!” Felicity exclaims, her hand going to her chest as the weight jumps to her throat, “Why didn’t you – I mean, are you OK?”

“I’m fine, Felicity,” he assures her, “The team got it out of my system. Don’t worry about it.”

“Oliver,” she swallows heavily, hoping to dislodge the weight on her chest that had jumped to her throat of Oliver being in danger.

“It’s fine,” he reiterates, reaching out a hand to touch her shoulder before stopping a centimetre from it and then dropping his hand completely back to his side, “Really. But I realised then that I forgot to thank you.”

“Thank me?”

“Yeah,” he nods, before taking a deep breath and expelling it, “Thank you. For everything. For being part of the team. For being my friend. For being my partner. For giving me a chance. So many chances. For all the times you forgave me for – well, for being an idiot. For being … well, _me_.Thank you for taking a leap with me last May. And thank you for the months we shared together.”

He stops as he draws another breath. Felicity welcomes the break as the weight in her chest expands.

“You have no idea how much better my life is, how much better I am as a person, as a man, because you were part of my life. Because I got to be part of yours. And I wanted to thank you for that, Felicity,” he concludes, finally meeting her eyes. The sorrow, the remorse, the self-hatred in them pressing against her sternum.

“Oliver,” she whispers, not knowing what to say.

“Like I said, this is not about me trying to win you back, Felicity,” Oliver smiles sadly, “That’s it. Just – _thank you_.”

He takes one long look at her as she stands with hand on her mouth and the other on her chest, before nodding to her with a sad excuse for a smile, “I’ll see you when I see you, Felicity. Be well.”

She watches him as he walks down the hallway and into a stairwell a few doors down from her mother’s apartment. She stands still as the weight in her chest mutates into something much bigger and more jagged than it had been, spreading throughout her body, choking her, looking for an outlet. Her arms and her legs break out in goosebumps, radiating from her chest.

“Honey?” Donna calls out softly from behind her, touching her shoulder gently and in concern.

With that, she loses control of her knees and collapses by the open doorway, as a sob escapes from her closed mouth. Followed by another, then another, and another, giving ease to the invisible, un-ignorable, unbearable massive weight in her chest.  

——–

There’s a familiar hole – a figurative one – in the middle of Oliver’s stomach.

The first time he sensed it was the first time he realised what being Robert and Moira Queen’s son and heir meant. And he felt that hole again and again throughout his life. Whenever he flunked a class. Got kicked out of another Ivy League. Saw the disappointed looks from his father. Heard the disillusioned but forgiving sigh from his mother.

Before the Gambit, he managed that small pit by reminding himself – and everyone around him – just who he was, just what he had, just what was available to him as an heir to billions. Eventually, managing that hole in his stomach included recklessness with his body, with drugs and alcohol, with the hearts of women.

In Lian Yu, for the first time, there was a physical manifestation of that  hole, and he was able to name what it was. The yawning pit of actual hunger matched the metaphorical chasm of inadequacy – in his stomach.

There, and after, he had learned to fill that hollow with becoming a master in the combat arts, and exercising his innate talent – according to Waller – to inflict pain on his enemies. That coping mechanism worked for him until he decided to come back to Starling City – with the added strategy of fulfilling his father’s dying wish.

He eventually replaced the fulfillment of his father’s mission with a bigger one – to save Starling City – to alleviate the hole. And for a while, he believed that he had found the ways in which he could manage that pit in his stomach whenever it gaped again.

Until he found himself falling in love with Felicity Smoak, and knowing that there was no version of him in this universe – maybe even in other universes – that would be worthy of her. Because she was everything he never imagined for himself but realised was – and is – everything that he wanted and needed.

All of sudden, the ways in which he filled that hole in his gut – even when he was doubting himself with Slade, and when he failed Tommy – were no longer adequate. He could punch and kick and inflict pain on his enemies, but what did that prove in terms of being right for Felicity? He could save the city, he could sacrifice himself, he could stop at nothing to save people, but none of that meant that he was more deserving of Felicity than anyone else. That he was worthy of her.

Then, she loved him back. She chose him. She took a chance on him and left everything behind to discover what they could be together. And that familiar pit in his stomach was filled to the brim like never before.

On the rare occasions that it showed up during their time together – when he found out that Felicity was not as satisfied with their domestic bliss in Ivy Town as he was, when she pushed him away because she blamed herself for what had happened to Palmer and she regretted that she had become the kind of woman who gave everything up for a man – he dealt with it by understanding her, and working to be the best partner that she could ever find. To try to prove to her and himself through words and actions that he was enough for her. _More than enough_ , he had hoped.

Ultimately, it was Felicity herself who unknowingly alleviated that gaping hole – by loving him, by being the best partner that he could ever find, by letting him love her.

Then he fucked up, and lost her.

And now that pit – filled with all his inadequacies and failures – has taken permanent residency in his gut. It taunts him in his quiet moments, reminding him of every time he has failed, calling him a dumb-ass, making him remember everything that he has ever lost, laughing at him for even imagining that _he_ – the murderer, the Ivy League drop-out, the friend killer, the cheater, the liar, _the failure_ – could ever hope to keep Felicity Smoak. Such gall to think, even for a minute, that he was someone worth her – when she was and is worth a million of him.

It’s jeering at him now, showing him the image of Felicity by Donna’s doorway – non-responsive, uncomfortable, sad, and looking like she felt sorry for him as he thanks her for everything. As he tried to prove to himself that once, in the past, before he fucked things up for good, he had become close to being the kind of man that wasn’t … _inadequate_.

_What did you think, idiot? That she would fall all over herself to forgive you for being such a fuck-up? Just because you thanked her? She’s already gone, remember? You’re still the man stuck in that island. The man who could never hope to make her happy. And she knows that. She doesn’t love you. Why should she? How could she? You’re –_

“You OK, Queen?” Quentin Lance greets him as Oliver steps out of the entrance of Donna’s building.

“Oh, hey, Quentin,” Oliver looks up to nod at the older guy, “I just wanted to see if Donna and Felicity are all right after what happened today.”

“Right,” Quentin nod, “You all right, kid?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, thanks,” Oliver responds, “All traces of Larvin’s bee gone.”

Quentin scoffs, but looks at him in sympathy, “Not really what I meant, but I’ll let it go. Donna was expecting me thirty minutes ago.”

Oliver grimaces a smile and gives Quentin a final nod before stepping towards his bike.

He straddles his Ducati, planning to head to the lair for a night of extreme exercise, or perhaps suiting up for the evening to patrol the Glades (even though the team had agreed to take the night off), or both. Anything to try fill up that hole in his stomach, as per usual.

It’s then that he remembers what Felicity had told him a few weeks back about insanity doing the same thing over and over again, and expecting different results.

He fishes out his phone from his back pocket and dials a number.

“Oliver,” John greets before the first ring even finishes, “Everything all right?”

“Everything’s fine. I mean, I’m not in any danger,” Oliver says in a rush, “Hey, do you think I can bring some food over and have dinner with you, Lyla and Sara tonight?

"Lyla is making chicken cacciatore for dinner tonight,” John responds, “You know she always makes more than what we can eat. Come on over. Bring dessert.”

Oliver breathes a sigh of relief, “I’m on my way. I’ll bring Lyla’s favourite wine, too.”

The gaping pit in his belly is still there as he heads towards the Michaels-Diggle household, but at least, it has shut up for now.

/end Chapter 1


	2. Chapter 2: The Smallest of Gestures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Death comes for Team Arrow. Felicity mourns the best way she knows how.
> 
> Warning: Speculation for the upcoming episode of Arrow.

In her first lucid moment after getting the call from John, she remembered something that one of those tech giants – Gates or Jobs or Kord or Fox? She couldn’t recall – had said: _“Almost everything—all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure—these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important.”_

_Definitely Jobs_ , she had told herself. And he was right.

Because everything had stopped for her the moment John told her about what had happened. How Malcolm had overwhelmed the team by launching two attacks at the same time. How, at the end of that difficult night, exactly a minute before the next day, death had come for the team. Again.

She’s still unclear about exactly what had happened. John had been too consumed with grief to tell her in detail. All she knows is that that night, John and Oliver had been busy dealing with Andy Diggle, as Thea and Laurel had gone ahead to follow a lead that Merlyn was near Iron Heights, both worried that there was a plan to get Darhk out of incarceration. True enough, the two women had gotten into the prison during a full scale riot that had been obviously orchestrated by HIVE and Merlyn. They had run into Merlyn in the middle of the fray. By the end of the fight, Laurel had a sword to the gut and l had lived long enough – bruised, battered and bleeding –to say good-bye to Thea.

Then the Black Canary closed her eyes for the final time and breathed her last breath as John and Oliver arrived at the scene.

“Too late,” John had choked out before cutting off the call, leaving Felicity holding on to her phone as her broken heart broke further.

The seeds of her regret began to grow in that moment, too.

——-

“Hey,” Lyla greets her morosely upon Felicity’s arrival at Laurel’s wake.

“Lyla,” Felicity murmurs, reaching out to grab the older woman’s hand. “How are you doing?”

“As fine as can be expected,” Lyla responds with a sigh, “The team is a different story.”

Felicity turns her attention to the corner where Lyla nods her head. Thea is sitting in one of the chairs, eyes blank and red-rimmed as Oliver sits on her right, pale and grim-faced, with their hands clasped. John sits on Thea’s left with his elbows on his knees and his forehead resting in his hands.

She’s about to step toward them when –

“Dad!” Sara Lance calls out from the doorway before rushing over to front of the room where Quentin and Dinah were sitting together.

She looks away as father and daughter clutch each other tightly, her eyes landing on her mother who had been hovering in one of the corners.

“Mom,” she murmurs as she approaches Donna.

“Hey, baby girl,” Donna greets back somberly, sniffling as she pulls Felicity close. “How are you holding up?”

“I don’t know,” she admits, “You?”

“I never really got to know her, you know,” Donna shares, “She was always polite and friendly. She once thanked me for making her father happy again. Quentin loves her so much. I’m so worried for him.”

“He has you,” Felicity assures her mother, “And having Donna Smoak in your corner is going to help him get through this. I should know.”

“Have you talked to your friends?” Donna asks, motioning to where Oliver, John and Thea were sitting. Lyla had joined them, now sitting beside her husband with her hand steady on his back.

“I thought I’d offer my condolences to the Lances first,” Felicity responds, as she pulls away from her mother to step towards the grieving family.

“I am so sorry for your loss,” she says quietly as she reaches the Lances huddled together in the bench closest to Laurel’s casket, “Laurel was one of the most amazing women I’ve ever met. One of the strongest.”

Quentin nods in acknowledgement as Dinah tries to smile in gratitude.

“Felicity,” Sara stands up to hug her.

She could feel Sara’s tears on her shoulder as tears fell down her own face, “I’m so sorry, Sara.”

It was all she could do.

———

It’s a testament to his grief that the feel of Felicity sitting next to him, and the sight and sound of her crying as silently as she could, doesn’t prompt him to feel or do anything. He’s just numb. Still in shock that Laurel is gone.

Oh, Oliver had been aware of her the moment of Felicity’s arrival at the wake. He will always be aware of her presence, he reckons. There’s a chemical – spiritual, meta-physical, perhaps? – reaction in him that alerts his body and mind to the presence of Felicity Smoak.

It’s just that he doesn’t have the energy to feel anything – _something_ – about it. He has enough energy to be grateful that Lyla is present to be John’s comforting shoulder, and to offer the minimum comfort to Thea. He had enough energy to nod in acknowledgment as she offered her condolences to the team.

At the moment, he doesn’t have it in him to do anything about Felicity’s tears and feelings, no matter how much a part of brain urges him to offer her his shoulder. He doesn’t even have it in him to feel comforted by Felicity’s presence.

All he can do is sit beside her, un-moving, in silence.

———-

As the mourners thin out, as Laurel’s colleagues, school friends and acquaintances leave the wake, the only ones who left are her father, mother, sister and teammates. And two individuals sitting in opposite sides of the back of the room. A man and a woman.

Felicity recognises the woman as Nyssa Al Ghul, who had arrived about an hour earlier and whose eyes had not left Sara Lance. The man, who had entered the room five minutes ago –

“Roy?” Oliver whispers in disbelief.

“What?” Thea looks up from staring at her lap.

“Roy’s here,” Oliver tells her gently.

Before Thea could get up, Oliver stops her, “Don’t call attention to him.”

Thea looks helplessly  and desperately at her brother, and Felicity can’t stand it, “I’ll sit with him. We’ll wait for you, Thea. Maybe I’ll take him the bunker later? Or to your apartment?”

Thea inhales, and nods her head at Felicity in thanks.

“Scarecrow,” Felicity greets softly, sitting beside a disguised Roy Harper. He had a beard that covered most of his face.

“Dorothy,” he says back just as quietly.

They sit in silence for a while, each lost in their thoughts. Until, “How is everyone doing?”

“I think they’re mostly in shock,” Felicity responds, “And grieving. They’ve barely said a word tonight.”

“And you?”

“I don’t know,” she admits.

At Roy’s confused frown, she expounds, “I haven’t been part of the team in for several weeks now, Roy. I quit.”

Roy’s confusion doesn’t lessen, so she continues, “Oliver and I broke up, and I couldn’t be part of the team anymore.”

“He kicked you out?” he asks in disbelief.

“No, of course not,” she says, “I quit. It was hard to be there every night with him.”

“He must have hurt you really bad,” Roy says in understanding.

“He did,” Felicity nods.

“But wow,” Roy shakes his head in disbelief, “I thought everyone would leave before you did. Even Oliver.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, you believed in the work so much,” Roy explains, “You believed in the good of what we were doing more than anyone in the team. So, it’s a shock to know that you’re not part of it anymore. That you had your own limits.”

“Yeah, and now Laurel’s dead,” Felicity swallows thickly, “And I can’t help but think if I hadn’t quit. If they had an extra pair of eyes that night. If they had someone on the team that could do what I can with blueprints and building schematics and remote controlled bombs and infrared satellites … Maybe this–”

“Stop, Felicity,” Roy interrupts her with a hand on hers, “Don’t you think I’ve wondered about that, too? On my way here, I asked myself, if I had not left the team, if they had an extra person on the field, maybe –”

“You had no choice, Roy,” Felicity tells him, “You left the team because someone needed to take the fall for The Arrow, and you bravely did it. You left to save Oliver, to save the team. Don’t blame yourself for not being there that night.”

“If you promise to stop thinking that way about yourself, too.”

“It’s different,” Felicity argues, “I left to save myself.”

“And it’s no less important than saving anyone in the team,” Roy assures her, “I’m sure everyone would agree.”

Felicity falls silent, reminding herself that this was not about her. This was not about her guilt. It was about Laurel Lance dying a heroic death – and grieving for the loss of a friend and a teammate.

She squeezes Roy’s wrist in understanding as she faces forward to sit in silence.

———–

Felicity had one last stop after dropping Roy off at Thea’s apartment, calling her mother to check on her and Quentin, making sure that John and Lyla were in their apartment, and watching as Oliver paced in the loft from her car across the street.

The metallic smell mixed with odour  of sweat, grease, and disinfectant greets her as she steps out of the car after parking it in the bunker garage. The cocktail of smell was familiar, and she sniffs harder to catch a faint whiff of Oliver’s unmistakable scent – that heady combination of leather, lemon, sage and black pepper – in the air.

Home.

_Time to go back to work_ , she vows as she steps into the platform where her computer systems waits.

———-

“You were at the bunker last night,” John greets her with a frown as he meets her in cemetery grounds.

“Yes, needed to update the systems,” she responds, trying to keep the defensiveness out of her voice.

“Are you back?”

“I’d like to be.”

“Why?” he challenges as he crosses his arms across his chest.

She deserves that. She had left without telling John Diggle, her partner, her friend, her teammate, about her decision.

When he had tried to visit her at Palmer Tech after the encounter with Brie Larvan, she had dismissed him with the her mantra of _“I’ve found another purpose. And I don’t need that kind of life anymore_.” And he had let her, leaving her with a reminder that he was always a phone call away.

She had regretted her actions towards John that day. But told herself that it was for the best.

"Because we have to end Merlyn for good,” she says, “Because I can’t stand the thought of what happened to Laurel happening again – to anyone of you. Not if my skills could prevent it. And definitely not because I wasn’t there to help.”

“And the next time he hurts you?” John prods, “Or does something to disappoint you?”

“I don’t know,” she states honestly.

“At least you’re honest,” he says and looks her in the eyes.

“Am I back in?” she asks hesitantly.

“You were always in, Felicity,” he tells her, “You will always be part of the team. You have always been part of the team. Always. You just decided to forget that for a while.”

She looks down, unable to handle the sincerity in John Diggle’s gaze. Unable to accept his understanding.

He reaches to squeeze her shoulder, “You’ve been missed. I’m glad you’re back.”

————

She waits for Oliver in the limousine as he says he final goodbyes to Laurel. That he’s not surprised at her presence in his limo tells her that John must have warned him about her.

“Are you okay?” he says gruffly after a few seconds of uncomfortable silence.

“Are you?” she says in response, refusing to look at him.  Seeing Quentin, Sara, Oliver, Thea and John grieve, seeing their tears, had replaced her own grief with anger at Malcolm Merlyn.

He was responsible for all of this. For Quentin having to lose another daughter again. For Sara losing her sister after she herself had just returned to life. For Thea losing a friend who had been there for her in her darkest times. For John losing a teammate. And for Oliver losing someone again. Someone he cared for. A woman he used to love.

Malcolm Merlyn will have to pay for another loss that he was responsible for.

She could barely hear Oliver’s gruff, “No.”

“You know what you have to do, right?” she says with conviction, “You have to kill that son of a bitch.”

He takes a deep breath at hearing her words and gives an almost imperceptible nod , she adds, “And I’m going to help you.”

/end Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://outoftheclosetshipper.tumblr.com/post/142357362538/and-the-heart-is-hard-to-translate-chapter-2


	3. Chapter 3:  I Would Put Them Back in Poetry if I Only Knew How

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Felicity and Oliver fall back into old patterns. Can they emerge from old behaviours? 
> 
> So as not to spoil anyone, I’m still hiding the rest of this under the cut.

Felicity could see the moment Oliver began to pull away from the team -- and it made her angry. All over again.

During the post-funeral service for Laurel, Oliver had kept a hand on his sister's back, and another on John's shoulder. He had even spent a few minutes with Sara and Nyssa, commiserating about their common grief and loss. He had hugged Quentin in sorrow, and allowed the older man to hug him back. A part of Felicity was glad that Oliver wasn't reacting the way he would have reacted before.

He wasn't closing himself off, and she was happy for it. Because all she really wanted was for Oliver to let other people support him, to not be so alone all the time. She had once hoped that she would be the one he would allow that place in his life, but she'll take this. She'll be content with an Oliver Queen who let other people in, even if it didn't include her.

As the post-funeral service ended, she could see him closing up. He had walked Thea to a car where Roy was waiting in the driver's seat, allowing her to hug him but not taking the opportunity to hug his sister back. He had said no to John and Lyla's offer to share a meal at their place. He had said no to the same offer from Quentin and Sara.

And it seriously pissed Felicity off. 

It was a different kind of anger than the one she had been unable to let go. She did not have the energy or the ability to explain to herself the difference. She just knew that the anger she felt towards Oliver's shutting down right now was different from the hurt she felt when he excluded her.

Or perhaps, seeing him isolate himself yet again just refreshed the festering hurt that she had been maintaining for months.

She tried to stay away, ignore him and leave him to his own devices. But she knew that Laurel's death, a woman whom he loved and had so much history with, must be causing Oliver so much hurt. And she couldn't just let him be. Not today. Not with this.

She had to try. Because today was not about her. It was about him and everyone that Laurel Lance loved.

She finds him in the bunker putting himself through a grueling work out routine -- just as she had expected.

"You're so predictable," she says with forced lightness as she stands at the edge of the training mats.

He scowls at her as he shifts his hands and continues his one-handed push-ups. He stops after two minutes and jumps to his feet and on to the pull-up bar to do one-armed chin ups.

"Oliver!" she exclaims as minutes pass with him refusing to acknowledge her.

He sighs as he jumps down from the bar to turn towards her, "What are you doing here, Felicity?"

"I wanted to check in on you," she admits.

"I'm fine," he says with a nod, "Thank you. But I'm fine."

"How could you be?" she protests, "We just buried Laurel Lance -- _your_ Laurel -- today --"

"I'm well aware," he interrupts with a scowl, "I don't need a reminder."

"I know that," Felicity pushes, "And you're closing yourself off again. So typi --"

"I'm not! Give me a break, Felicity!" he pushes back, "I'm giving everyone time tonight to be with their loved ones. No one needs me tonight. Thea's with Roy -- that's whom she needs. John's with his family. Sarah's with her family. Everyone's with everyone they need to be with tonight. Well, except you. You should go call your mom or Curtis. Or Palmer. I don't know. All I know is that I'm not the one you need to be with. Not tonight. Not ever. You've made that very clear to me."

"And you?" she challenges, jaws clenched.

"Remember? I'm always going to default to that man in the island. The man who came back to save Starling City. Alone," he throws back at her.

At her stricken look, his shoulders slump, and he continues with a softer tone, "Tomorrow, I'll spend time with the team. With John. With Thea. I'll see Lance. I'll see Sarah. I'll comfort them tomorrow, and I'll allow them to comfort me. Tonight, it's not necessary. If you're here because you're worried I'll fall into one of my default moods, don't. I'll seek help tomorrow. Tonight, I just need a breather."

She tries to hold back her bitterness over being left out of his list of people, knowing that it would be unfair of her to push him on it, but she couldn't, "And me? Where am I in your equation?"

He looks at her in confusion, before speaking, "You've removed yourself from the equation, Felicity. You've removed yourself from me. That's what you wanted."

"I'm back in the team," she says.

"Yes, so I heard," he nods, "I hope you're doing it for the right reasons. I hope you don't regret it again."

"I never regretted it," she whispers, "I just --"

"You just regretted _me_ ," he finishes for her, his voice cracking. He turns away from her, "I can't do this tonight, Felicity. I don't know why you're here. I don't know what you need from me. But I'm sorry, I'm -- I just can't be what you --"

"I want to be here for you," she admits quietly, "I know you're hurting, Oliver. And I thought maybe -- you -- you needed someone … Me … To be here for you."

She could see his shoulder rising and falling as he listens to her words. She wills him to turn towards her.

"Go home, Felicity. There's nothing for you here. Not tonight," he gasps quietly as he drops his head and walks away from her and out of the bunker.

\----------

He knows that walking away from Felicity was not a step in the right direction. That rejecting the comfort that she had offered that night -- the same comfort that he had been longing for for what seems like decades now -- further damaged their already broken relationship.

_But you're not worth it_ , the chasm in his gut and the damaged heart tell him. _You don't deserve any of it. She's better off without you. All you bring is hurt and pain and anger. You don't love. You don't trust. You're beyond redemption._

Over and over, the words run through his head as he goes through  circuits between punching and kicking the Wing Tsun wooden dummy, and one-handed push-ups.

Very soon, he knows, the team will start making their way to the bunker, and before then, he needs to have released all of this. So, they can focus on the mission. So, he can focus on Thea and John. So, he can offer Quentin the support the older man needed. So, he can face Felicity.

As he has done every day for a week since Laurel's funeral.

"This is how you cope then?" a gruff voice says from somewhere behind him, "Does it work?"

Oliver stops and turns towards Quentin.

Before he could respond, the older man continues, "Because Donna and Dinah have both recommended physical exercise to keep me away from the bottle. And I've taken up running. Still doesn't mean I don't want have a drink before, during and after."

"I'm sorry," Oliver murmurs, his voice raspy. It is too early in the day for him to be speaking to anyone just yet. He was no longer used to starting his day with conversation as he had gotten accustomed to in those months with Felicity --

"How are you holding up?" Quentin interrupts Oliver's spiraling thoughts.

"I should be asking you that," Oliver says, "Is Sara back from staying with Dinah?"

"Next week," Quentin answers shortly.

The two men stand facing each other in awkward silence. What could they say to each other? Anything that would come out of their mouths would be platitudes and useless against their shared grief. Their common guilt.

_Try_ , a voice similar to Felicity's calls in Oliver's head.

"Running doesn't help, huh?" Oliver starts.

"If you're going to offer to spar with me, Queen, save it," Quentin rolls his eyes. "That's not going to help either. And I'm too old for that kind shit."

"Breakfast then," Oliver offers, "Big Belly's open by this time. And their menu offers heart-healthy meals."

"Sounds like a plan," the older man responds.

\----------

"I think Quentin and Oliver are dating," Donna announces with a roll of her eyes as she enters Felicity's one bedroom apartment.

"What?" Felicity frowns. She's not in the mood for her mother's … _Donna-ness_ this morning. Not after another sleepless night, pretending that the reason why she couldn't sleep was because she was running searches on Merlyn, Darhk, HIVE and their cohorts.

"Personally, I think it's cute," Donna continues breezily as she lays the take out bags from the Aron's Deli on the coffee table, "Wouldn't I love to be a fly on the wall in wherever those two grumpies go for breakfast?"

"What are you talking about, mom?" Felicity asks exasperatedly.

"Oh, you didn't know?" Donna stops to look at her daughter, "I thought you were back working with your team?"

"I am," Felicity confirms, going over the coffee table to grab the cup of coffee she knows her mother had come bearing.

"But you're not talking to Oliver?"

"We're talking," Felicity says dismissively, inhaling the energising aroma of the superb coffee that Aron's Deli serves, "About the work. We need to focus on the work."

"Oh," Donna sighs, "I thought you were friendly again."

"We're friendly," Felicitys answers quickly, "Polite, more likely. We don't really share much these days."

"So, you didn't know that he has been spending the last five days meeting Quentin for breakfast?" Donna frowns.

"No, I did not know that," Felicity says, "But that's a good thing, right? I mean, that they're reaching out to each other? It's good that Dete -- Capta-- Quentin has Oliver to, you know, commiserate with. Oliver's really good at that. Being supportive, I mean. And the two of them both love Laurel so much. There's so much history there. And it's good for Quentin, I think."

"I think so, too," Donna agrees, handing Felicity a pastrami on rye, "And it's good that Oliver has Quentin, too."

"It is," Felicity nods, as she sits down on the couch, "I'm glad for the two of them."

And she is. She's happy that Oliver is not closing himself off completely. Even before knowing that Oliver has been spending time with Quentin, Felicity had seen proof that Oliver was trying to not isolate himself from the rest of the team. She knows that he has had dinners with Thea, and long talks with John.

Something had happened between Oliver and John before Laurel had died that she was not privy to, not really. All she knows is that Oliver had warned John about something -- perhaps Andy? -- and John had not listened. None of the men would speak about it. But she could see the two men working towards repairing things between them, sometimes by having long talks, and sometimes through extended sparring sessions.

She knows that John is consumed with guilt about his brother betraying the team which led to Laurel's death. And from what she could observe whenever she was in the bunker, Oliver has been trying very hard to get John out of that mindset.

She's happy to see  and know that Oliver was trying to behave and react in a healthier way about Laurel's death. That he wasn't going at it alone. That he was recovering with his friends and his loved ones.

Except you, a bitter voice with the face of her old Goth self says in her head.

"Things with Oliver have not improved?" Donna asks, interrupting Felicity's thoughts.

"We're talking," Felicity insists, She wishes her mother would just drop it. Things with Oliver were fine. There was no need to pick at that old scab. Ever again. "That's enough."

"Is it?" Donna prods, "Because the way I see it, Oliver seems to be making strides in dealing with Laurel's death. Quentin did tell me that their breakfast dates were mutual sharing moments between them. Of course, my curmudgeon wouldn't say anything more than that about it."

"Your point?" she glares, hoping that that would intimidate Donna into stopping this conversation.

"You're not doing so well, sweetie," Donna says gently, "You can try to hide the dark bags under your eyes under some pretty heavy concealer, or how much weight you've lost under some new diet fad. But I can tell, you're not eating or sleeping, honey. And you're not talking to anyone about it."

"Who could I talk to? John is in all sorts of grief and guilt about the entire thing. Thea's got her own grief to worry about," Felicity argues, standing up and dropping her sandwich roughly on the coffee table, "And Oliver? Oliver  -- he doesn't need me. I'm the last thing he needs right now."

"What about me then?" Donna challenges, standing up to face her daughter, "I know I'm not part of your secret club of fighters and geniuses. But I'm here. I'm here for you, Felicity. It's unbearable seeing you this way."

"Mom…" Felicity deflates. She hates it when she makes her mom feel less than important, less than what Donna Smoak is. Because, while it took her a while to learn that lesson, Felicity knows that her mother is such a positive force to be reckoned with, such an admirable woman. And she hates when she causes her mom to doubt that.

"You told me that the reason why you couldn't be with Oliver was because he closes himself off. Because he isolates himself. Even from you. And I understand that, Felicity. I respect your decision to settle for nothing less than everything," Donna urges, "That's why you're the strongest woman I know. Why you would never end up like me. And you have no idea how proud I am to have raised a daughter with such a strong sense of self-worth."

At Felicity's wordless tears, Donna continues, "But don't ever mistake isolation for strength, Felicity. Or mistake needing support as weakness. Oliver made that mistake, and the worst was when he made that mistake with you. Please don't make the same mistake. For yourself."

Felicity buries her tear-stricken face in her hands as her mother holds her close.

\----------

"Thank you," Quentin says out of the blue as he takes a sip of his second cup of coffee. He's looking down at the table as he says it.

Oliver, who had been picking at his seven egg white omelette with spinach, tomatoes and mushrooms, looks up bemused, "What?"

"Thank you," Quentin repeats, raising his eyes to meet the younger man's, "For trying to get her to the hospital. For carrying her all the way to the hospital. For risking your identity."

"Too late," Oliver drops his gaze to his plateful of what Quentin things is the grossest egg dish known to man, "It's the least I could have done for her. I was not a good man to Laurel. You know that. I know that."

"Yes," Quentin agrees gruffly, "There were times …"

"When you wanted to put a bullet between my eyes?" Oliver finishes for him sadly, "After the island, I would have gladly let you."

"Now you tell me," Quentin retorts grumpily. "The thing I never understood was why she let you get away with it. Why she kept letting you back in. Why she kept on giving you so many chances. She's brilliant, intelligent, confident. Except when it came to you. And I never understood it."

"I don't either," Oliver admits, "I think it's because she thought I was redeemable. That if she loved me enough, I would change. Before the island, I definitely took advantage of that."

"And after? When you came back?"

"I thought that if I earned her forgiveness, I would be redeemed," Oliver says honestly, "She was a symbol of what I used to be, what my life was like before the island. Before everything bad happened to me. And I held on to her. She should have stayed far away from me."

"She couldn't," Quentin sighs, "She couldn't get over you."

"And I will always be sorry for that," Oliver says softly, "That I couldn't love her the way that she deserved to be loved."

"She loved you," Quentin says.

"Yes," Oliver nods.

"Did she admit that to you before --"

"It's not fair, I know," Oliver gazes up to meet Quentin's eyes, "Thea told me that Laurel had said -- before she -- before she died -- that I was the love of her life. After telling Thea that she knew that she wasn't mine."

"Felicity?"

"Yes."

"The one woman who wouldn't let you get away with anything," Quentin shakes his head, "It's fitting."

"Yes."

They fall quiet. A comfortable silence.

"Do you think that Laurel would have -- moved on from you, eventually?" Quentin finally asks.

"I think she was already on her way to that," Oliver answers, "She was supportive of my relationship with Felicity. More than that, she was happy for us."

"I would like to think that my girl would have found love again, eventually," Quentin admits. "That she would have realised that she was worth loving and to love. Someone who would have treated her right."

"Like Tommy," Oliver looks down again, "I comfort myself with the thought that they're together now."

"That's a good thought," Quentin nods, raising his coffee cup to his lips for a sip.

Oliver smiles to himself. _It is a good thought_.

\--------

"I'm sorry," Oliver says from behind her.

Felicity is by the servers in the bunker, rearranging wires to accommodate the extra servers that Curtis was bringing in soon for extra computing capacity for the major hack that she was planning on international global positioning system satellites. She jumps as she hears Oliver's voice before turning around to face him.

"What?"

"I'm sorry, Felicity," he repeats solemnly, meeting her gaze head-on, "That night, after Laurel's funeral. I know you were just trying to be a friend. A good friend. The best. I was just not in the right head space then. And I'm sorry for how I acted towards you."

Felicity swallows heavily at his words. This was more than she had expected from him. More than what she was prepared for. She would have been … _not bad_ … with the two of them maintaining their politely-friendly distance. _Really_ , she tries to convince herself. _Anything is much better than having to confront this_.

"And I'm sorry that I'm bringing this up without warning," Oliver adds, "I can see I've caught you off guard. And I'm sorry for that as well."

As he turns away, Felicity knows that she has to say something, that she has to work her words around the weight in her chest that had spread to her throat, and that what she says next will shape them for the foreseeable future.

"Oliver," she puts a hand on his arm, "I understand."

And that's it. That's all she has in her.

But Oliver's reaction, the smile that blooms in his face at her words, tells her that's that enough for him.

And the weight in her chest eases.

/end Chapter 3


	4. Chapter 4: It Tiptoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team works to find their enemies, as Oliver and Felicity find new footing with each other.

With Curtis' help, Felicity had been able to beef up the bunker's computer system to enable them to run more extensive and exhaustive searches on their missing enemies. The rest of the team had been busy trying to round up the escaped Iron Heights prisoners, and getting leads on the ground for where Darkh, Merlyn, Andy and the rest of HIVE had disappeared off to. Lyla had put ARGUS eyes in place to monitor Ruvé Adams as that piece of the work required the kind of stealth that none in Team Arrow could provide, given their exposed identities to their enemies.

Even though she had been back in the team only for ten days -- _and only temporarily_ , she vowed, _only until they catch those responsible for Laurel's death_ \-- being in the bunker, working with her friends and teammates, even working with Oliver again, felt like putting on a well-fitting glove.  She had to admit, even if just to herself, that a lot of the ease that she felt had to do with the space that Oliver had given her.

He had been friendlier ever since he apologised to her for his behaviour on the night of Laurel's funeral, and she had told him that she understood.

_No, not friendlier_ , she amends to herself. With the exception of that evening, Oliver had taken her being part of the team in stride and with friendliness. No, the change was that he had been more … _at ease_. He had stopped looking at her as if he was hoping that her presence could mean more. As if her presence hurt him. As if every word out of her mouth was a reminder of what they had and lost.

As a result, Felicity's hackles relaxed. She was herself more at ease with being able to work with him, to be in his presence. She felt like she had room to breathe, even with him in the same room.

_Temporarily!_ she cautions herself. _Only until we catch the bad guys for good._

She jumps as she hears something slam by the garage entrance to the bunker, snapping her out of her thoughts. She wasn't expecting Oliver and John to be back so soon after they left for their nightly patrol.

"Digg!" she hears Oliver call out loudly. She stands to move towards his voice.

"I almost had him!" John growls, slamming his fists on the table again, "That son of a bitch was about to sing -- until he used his cyanide pill! Now we've got nothing! Why the fuck did you stop me, Oliver?!?!"

"John," Oliver growls back with his hand raised in a stopping gesture, "You were about to take out the man's eye with your bare hands!"

"Are you telling me that you've never done anything like that? You? Waller's former enforcer? You've done worse!" John whirls around to face Oliver, his hands clenched in fists by his sides, "You of all people have a lot of nerve--"

"I know," Oliver concedes, keeping the other man's gaze steadily, "But you're not me, John. You're better than me. Don't forget that."

John breaks eye contact, slamming a palm on the metal desk once more.

After keeping an eye on John for a few seconds, Oliver turns his head to see Felicity witnessing the entire exchange. He looks surprised to see her. He quickly averts his gaze, gulping visibly, his jawline clenched, discomfort and hurt clearly written on his face.

He nods tentatively in her direction, and without a word, he strides towards his parked Ducati and zooms out of the bunker --  to continue his patrol, Felicity assumes.

She stares blankly at the garage door where he exited. Speechless, the weight in her chest expanding to her throat. Then she remembers her other friend. She exhales to dislodge the lump in her throat before turning to John.

"John …" Felicity murmurs,  walking towards him, reaching a hand out to touch his hunched shoulder.

John slumps further, laying his palms on his knees, head bent down, breathing hard. Felicity strokes his shoulder blades in comfort, tears running down her face, heart hurting for John and his guilt and regret, and for Oliver and his unquestioning acceptance of John's words.

"I didn't mean it -- what I said to him," John eventually whispers, his voice tortured, "I'm just so … I'm so angry. _At myself_. For trusting Andy. For Laurel's -- That's on me."

"It's not John," Felicity says gently, "It's on them. It's on Merlyn. It's on Darhk. It's on Andy. It's on everyone involved in HIVE. Not you."

"Oliver warned me about Andy," John admits sullenly, unwilling to be absolved of his guilt, "And I threw his mistakes back in his face. I hit him with the one thing I knew would hurt him the most. I --"

"You reminded him why I left him," Felicity finishes for him in a choked voice. She knows that what happened between her and Oliver still hurts him. It still hurts her, too.

"After I told him that he had not changed and evolved," John adds thickly.

Felicity nods in understanding, "You were defending your brother, John. And now you're hurting."

"It doesn't make it right," John says.

"He'll forgive you," Felicity urges, "You know he will."

"Maybe he shouldn't."

"It doesn't matter, if he should or could," Felicity answers, "He will. Now you need to forgive yourself. For Andy. For Laurel. For the hurtful things you said to Oliver. Yes, it was out of line, John, but you had your reasons. Focus on that."

"Easier said than done," John shakes his head, exhaling. He straightens up, wiping tears from his face.

Felicity lightly bumps her shoulders on his side, hoping to lighten the mood, and remind John of what’s important, "I hear that going home to your beautiful wife and child to remind yourself who you are, what you are, the kind of man you are, is good a place to start."

He nods his head as he reaches out to engulf her in his arms. She stays there, clutching him back, until they're ready to let go.

The look on Oliver's face as he exits the bunker haunts her for the rest of the evening. Haunts her for days, if she was being honest with herself.

\--------------

"Where's John?" Thea asks as she steps into the bunker an hour later.

"He's taking time off to spend time with Lyla and Sara," Felicity responds.

"And Ollie?"

"Out patrolling."

"Oh," Thea frowns, "No back-up?"

"He's on comms," Felicity assures the younger woman, pointing to her ear, "He says he's just watching and observing locations tonight. He'll call for back-up if something comes up."

"And what do you think about that?" Thea asks.

Felicity mutes her mic before speaking, "I think you should suit up and join him."

"That's what I thought," Thea smirks and nods.

"He needs someone on his side tonight, Thea," Felicity adds seriously, holding Thea’s gaze, "Please."

"Gotcha," Thea smiles before turning around to don her uniform.

\----------

"Before you ask me what I'm doing here, it's Felicity's idea," Thea says upon seeing Oliver. He's positioned on a roof top overlooking one of the known HIVE bases with his binoculars out.

He had assumed that when Felicity announced in that stubborn tone that Thea was on her way to his location, so he merely nods at his sister. He knew why Felicity had sent Thea to him even when he was fine without any back-up. He appreciated what she was trying to do. Really. Warmth bloomed in his chest at the thought of Felicity caring for him still.

He wasn't expecting it from her. He knows that he had no right to expect anything from Felicity ever again. He'd burned that bridge with his lies and his exclusion of her. He knows that.

That's why he couldn't even look at her when he realised that she had witnessed that exchange with John. What John had said reminded him of why he should never ever dreamed of any kind of future with Felicity. Because he is not like John Diggle, and he would never be. Acknowledging that truth hurt double because Felicity had witnessed it.

_It's not like she needed another reminder about how she dodged a bullet when she left you_ , the chasm in his gut had sneered at him as he left the bunker that evening.

Now he's trying to not read too much into Felicity's show of concern for him. He knows that all it means that she is his friend, that she is his teammate. He can’t help but love her all the more for it, to admire her heart, one of the things he loves most about her -- as he strives to remind himself that all it means is that Felicity Smoak has a kind heart.

_Nothing more_ , he tells himself as butterflies erupt in his stomach in hope that the fact that she cares for his welfare means it's not too late for them. That they can recover from his fuck-up. That there was a future for them.

Tightening his gut, he focuses on the task at hand.

"Any movement?" Thea asks from beside him.

"No, not really," Oliver says, "We caught one of them earlier, guarding this place, John tried -- Uh, but the cyanide pill -- We didn't get anything out of him."

"That was so helpful," Thea comments snarkily, rolling her eyes at her brother's obvious evasion.

"Th -- Speedy!" Felicity interrupts from the comms, "Maybe do you guys need me to do a thermal scan of the place again. We can do that now. This new umm … CI -- satellite we have access to now can do that, I mean. It's pretty cool."

"Good idea, Overwatch," Oliver responds.

"It will take a few minutes. Several actually. Doing it now," Felicity mumbles.

"Cool. Muting now. Let us know if you find something," Thea says, turning her muting her comms, and reaching to touch Oliver's chest to mute his comms.

"Th -- Speedy, what are you doing?" Oliver protests.

"What's going on?"

Oliver sighs before admitting, "Spartan had caught one of the Ghosts tonight. Things got intense. I had to put a stop to it. And he's not very happy with me right now."

"Intense, how?"

"Uh -- he had been torturing the guy," Oliver explains.

"And you stopped him, why?" Thea frowns.

"Because that's not who he is," Oliver says, "That's not a path he can take and ever come back from."

"You're speaking from experience," Thea tells him.

Oliver doesn't respond. This was an aspect of his past that he had hoped he would never have to tell his baby sister about. This is a part of the darkness in him he had always wanted to shield her from.

"It wasn't a question," Thea says at his silence, "And you have come back from it, Ollie. You have to believe that. Otherwise, you wouldn't have stopped John. You wouldn't be here working to save the city. I believe that. You need to start believing that, too."

He nods and reaches a hand out to squeeze her shoulder, "Thank you."

"She sent me, you know," Thea says, "With a warning that you needed someone on your side tonight."

"I know," he looks down, tamping down the weightless feeling in his chest.

"Good," Thea says, bumping her shoulder against his.

Later, when he overhears Felicity murmuring a thank you to Thea before leaving the bunker, he smiles. Hope flutters in his chest.

/end Chapter 4

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr: https://outoftheclosetshipper.tumblr.com/post/142296344278/and-the-heart-is-hard-to-translate-summary


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